


Listen Before I Leave

by emmarolfe



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Romance, dramione - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-10
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-16 09:08:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29329824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emmarolfe/pseuds/emmarolfe
Summary: When Dumbledore offers solace to Draco in exchange for his life, Draco accepts, completely altering the war. Draco sweeps together with the resistance, hiding out in a safehouse with Harry, Ron, Ginny and Hermione. Before long, Hermione finds out the real reason for Draco’s change-of-heart, and irrevocably falls for him.But their love is compromised and the two are split apart. Hermione begins to realise what it means to love within a war. With their journey completely different, how will Harry destroy the horcruxes? How will Hermione and Draco’s love survive?
Relationships: Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Kudos: 15





	1. The Safehouse

"A safehouse?," Ron repeated, looking furiously at McGonagall across from her desk. The red hair, scarlet-cheeked boy look from the woman to Hermione, then back to the woman again.

Her hair looked like it had experienced some form of electric shock, as it stood on end and messily strewed down her blood-stained cheeks, giving her some kind of warrior-woman look. Hermione felt the way McGonagall looked. Tired. Wrecked. Sore.

How could Malfoy have pulled out at the last minute? He let Death Eaters into the castle, then, at the final second when Dumbledore offered him help. After Malfoy had drawn cuts across the school that would leave scars forever, he took the offer. Was Dumbledore a fool? The Death Eaters still managed to get inside the castle and cause far worse damage than if Malfoy alone had of just blown some shit up and got on with assassinating the Headmaster.

Hermione felt angry. She also felt drained and ruined. That's what happened when you fought in a battle. That's what war is. Fighting, betrayal, battle-tactics, the lot. Her entire body was sore from the fight and the sudden decrease of adrenaline afterwards. She needed to sleep. 

"Well its the only place for you. I suspect by now the Death Eaters would have told You-Know-Who of Draco's betrayal. Malfoy is now at-risk of being caught along with all three of you. I've discussed it with Dumbledore and Moody, you're leaving now," she stated.

"What? What safehouse?," Harry demanded.

Hermione looked over at him, there was a distraught look wrinkled his face. Though he was only 16, he looked so much older due to the stresses of having to stay alive when Voldemort was constantly after him, that and the fact he'd just returned from a battle.

"Dumbledore has one in Ireland. I will not discuss it further Potter. He has taken Malfoy there now, you will meet the boy and take care of him," McGonagall said firmly to Harry, but as she finished her sentence, her eyes strayed over towards Ron, then Hermione. 'Take care of him', McGonagalls eyes bled to Hermione.

What was she going to do? Bottle feed him and change his diaper every two hours? She would already be busy taking care of Harry and Ron, and now McGonagall was dumping a 16 year-old (now) former Death Eater into her arms as well. 

"Well, will there be anyone else there?," Hermione asked desperately.

"No, only you five. Dumbledore created his own Portkey under the eye of the Ministry to go to this location. Even i do not know where it is as my knowing could compromise it. Only Dumbledore and Moody know, and they insisted you all should not know either as it could be breached in the future, and they insist it needs to kept hidden as its one of the most safest houses in all of Europe," McGonagall explained. Her voice seemed fluctuated- scared.

The fear of letting these mere children go was overwhelming, yet, Dumbledore's orders were that that she could not disobey. McGonagall swept her eyes towards poor Hermione. She looked like she was going to vomit in her seat. Her face was pale, streaked with blood from herself and others. She store into abyss- into oblivion. It was one thing for McGonagall to fear for others, but when Hermione was the one that was entering the unknown, it felt like she was signing her Death Certificate.

"That pencil cup is the portkey," McGonagall added quietly, fiddling with her fingers in her lap, "it is due to leave in three minutes."

And there it was. The certainty of death that radiated around the four of them. Hermione, Ron, Harry and Ginny. All of them would soon go somewhere they'd never been before, to live for an uncertain amount of time.

It was a daunting thought, and Hermione hated it. She would have to tell her parents that there was a chance she wouldn't come home. She looked at Ginny and Ron. They wouldn't even have time to say goodbye to their families. Was this really the cost of war? It felt like a iron sword that was on fire was being scolded down Hermione's throat. She didn't want them to have to say goodbye to their family. Ginny was only 15. She needed her mother. She was too strong to show the bitter feelings hat she held deep down, though Hermione knew as soon as they arrived at the safehouse she would disappear into a room and let her feelings loose.

"What about Dumbledore?," Harry asked, looking at McGonagall. He looked furious. Hermione knew he hated being in hiding. Dumbledore forced him to do it every holidays at the Dursleys, then the past year when they had been forced to stay in Grimmauld Place. He wanted action. He wanted to do some good. The guilt he felt was too overriding, and Hermione knew that it could potentially be the thing that ruined him. He didn't think, he just fought.

"Dumbledore's plans are confidential to himself and Moody, Potter. Even I know nothing," she said. Her voice was soft. Hermione presumed she was tired and distraught to the fact that she was about to say goodbye to students she'd treated like her own children, especially Harry.

"Why can't we know where we're going? What if something happens and we get stuck there?," Ron asked. His face was the only one that was bleeding scarlet from the blush that inhabited his freckled cheeks. He store at McGonagall, chin out and furious as he always did when he was angry.

"Like I said, Weasley, Dumbledore knows where it is, and we must trust him," McGonagall reminded.

"And what if he gets killed! What if we're stuck there without any information!," Ron shouted.

"Then you'll stay!," McGonagall said firmly, glaring at Ron, staring with a look that told him to not dare speak any further. "I need to trust that you'll all follow orders. Malfoy's betrayal will no doubt anger Voldemort. He'll be more ruthless than ever, and that means he'll want to come after you four, not just Harry. You think if he manages to capture one of you that he won't use you like bait to lure out Harry! He'll take you with greed! He'll keep you alive until he either has the Order secrets or Harry, then he'll kill you without a second thought! You must stay there and do whats told, Ron! That house is the absolute safest place for you. You'll be given information when it is necessary. Other than that, you'll stay. You won't stray past the boundary and you'll stay hidden, and most importantly, alive," McGonagall yelled.

Ron didn't say anything else. No one did. Ginny held his hand so tightly her knuckles were growing white. Harry store at the ground. Hermione felt the color drain from her face. She felt queasy and weak. The thought of leaving everything cut deep like she was a fish being gutted. She knew that this was something that would happen eventually. She knew that Dumbledore would want them to hide away from Voldemort and protect Harry, and she, along with Ginny and Ron had vowed to die for him if it came to it. She wondered whether Dumbledore would ask the same of Draco. Was Malfoy even worthy of trust? Afterall, it could be a taboo that Voldemort created so that Malfoy could gather information and report back to Voldemort.

But it was Dumbledore's trust. He was right about Snape, who ended up stunning Bellatrix Lestrange and curing Neville during the battle, even in front of his Death Eater comrades. She had trusted Dumbledore all throughout her life at Hogwarts, even pushed Harry and Ron to confide in him, she couldn't betray him now. Hermione knew that Dumbledore's choice was wise. While Voldemort would indeed be mad with the Malfoy's, and more than likely kill Narcissa and Lucius, they now had Draco, who could tell Dumbledore and the Order the inner-workings of the Death Eaters.

"Thirty seconds to go," McGonagall said. Her voice was cold and scared.

"Tell mum we love her," Ron said after a few seconds. He store at McGonagall. Maybe she should ask for a message to be sent to her parents too?

"Professor. I- I need you to do something," Hermione said quietly. She knew that doing what she planned to do was something she vowed to herself after Sirius had died, and now she was unable to complete the action herself, she needed someone else to do it for her.

"Anything, Hermione," McGonagall said in a low voice.

"Obliviate my parents. The Death Eaters could catch them and kill them. I don't want them harmed. Obliviate them so they forget that they ever had a daughter. I don't want them freaking out over why I didn't come home. Please, Professor," Hermione said.

"Of course, Hermione. I'll visit them tomorrow," McGonagall reassured, "Now please, everyone put their hands on the cup," she said. With her words, Hermione felt a wave of both relieve and fear strike through her. She took a breath in, possibly the only movement she could have made from that point, then slowly moved her hand towards the cup.

She wrapped her hand tightly, forcing her eyes tightly shut. She felt the fingers of Ginny, Ron and Harry, though she couldn't distinguish whose was who.

"Good luck," McGonagall said.

Suddenly, Hermione felt herself being thrown downwards, as though she was being sucked into a black hole. She kept her eyes shut tight as the world around her spun like a spinning wheel. Then suddenly, the motion stopped, and she fell against the ground.

Hermione threw her eyes open to find herself in some kind of sitting room. There were quaint looking couches, and a wide window that gave the view of a muggle car highway far past a long field. She looked around and saw Harry, Ron and Ginny getting up roughly from the floor. Ginny, who was beside her, helped her stand up.

She looked around the room. The walls were white, and everything was clean and tidy. Hermione glanced towards an archway that led to a different room. Standing in front of it was Malfoy.

His face was more pale than it had ever been before, extenuating the purple that shone from underneath his eyes. He looked up at them, expressionless. Hermione couldn't read him. He looked relieved, yet weakened and terrified.

"Malfoy," Harry said. It wasn't the usual bitter spite that he normal spat, but a more sincere surprise.

"Harry," Draco said. Hermione was shocked. It was the first time she'd ever heard them speak so civilly, even if there was still had stifling sense of what Malfoy had done lingering in the air. "I'm-".

"Save it, Malfoy," Harry said quickly. He wasn't fighting, but in a more telling voice. Malfoy closed his mouth immediately. "Why now, huh? You taunt us for all those years, join the Death Eaters but all of a sudden when Dumbledore offers you salvation at the last moment you suddenly decide to take it?"

Draco paused. Hermione could tell he knew the answer, it was just so hard to admit that he had been wrong. "I... It was so hard, Potter. It was something that you cannot understand nor imagine. I was bound so tightly. People watched my every move. My parents begged me to stay- to not destroy the family name."

"I think its a bit late for that," Ron said bitterly.

Draco ignored him. "You don't have to like me, Potter and frankly i don't expect it. I'm not here to play nice and make friends."

"Then why are you here?," Harry pushed, "all your family are on that side, all you've ever known is there, so why did you leave?"

Draco paused, breathing deeply. His eyes cast upon Hermione. They didn't look away.

"Harry, I think you're tired. We all need to sleep," she said, looking away from Draco to say to Harry. There was a somewhat dirty look now appheaving his face. He looked down at Hermione a drew a breath, calming his face and withdrawing the anger.

Hermione could tell that there was still a great urgency of brutality between the boys. Harry hated Malfoy, but not as much as Ron did. The ginger boy stood jaw-clenched, knuckles white and fuming at Malfoy. Hermione understood their anger. He put them through hell, so why should they give Malfoy for one grateful action after so many terrible ones?

Hermione couldn't bring herself to hate Malfoy. She resented him and was angered by his past, but something about the bravery and courage it took to accept Dumbledore's help said something to her. He was no longer afraid of being the boy who stood under his fathers shadow, or the boy too cool to admit he needed help. He had taken Dumbledore's offer. Dumbledore. A man Hermione trusted. She wasn't going to break that trust, not anytime soon.

Hermione could see Harry wanted to budge, but was struggling it with presence of Malfoy, as he usual tried to out-do or offend the blond as much as humanly possible in his surrounding. Harry had always been on his guard around Draco. Hermione figured he wasn't going to be any different now.

"What did Dumbledore tell you about this place?," Hermione asked Draco, using the question to pressure Harry away from his prejudice.

"It belongs to Aberforth. He said the boundary runs far. He's used a Fidelius Charm to keep it under wraps," Draco said.

"Who is the Secret Keeper?," Harry asked. His voice was sharp. Hermione knew that the Fidelius Charm had led to the deaths of his parents, as James had put his trust in the wrong person. Hermione knew Dumbledore would never put his faith in the wrong hands, but also couldn't blame Harry for his abruptness, it was afterall how Lily and James had died.

"Moody," Malfoy said. Harry didn't say anything- a sign of approval. "Its roughly around a hundred acres and it goes into the ocean. He said that we need to stay here until further instructions are given."

"So you've got to gather all our secrets and intelligence before someone comes for us and run," Ron hissed. Hermione store daggers at him. He was still glaring at Draco, even more red-faced than ever. She knew that if they were going to be stuck here for an uncertain amount of time that they needed to cooperate and get along. Ron was going to make it his mission to make sure that didn't happen.

"Ron, he's on our side now. Dumbledore trusts him-," Hermione said calmly.

"Dumbledore might, but i sure dont!," Ron lathered. Malfoy store coolly at him, as though every insult that Ron spat simply hit him and slid down his chest, like he was wear a thick iron suit that protected him from the meaning of words.

"Ron!-," Hermione snapped.

"Don't bother, Granger," Draco put out his hand to wave off Hermione. Her jaw was slacked open, but quickly shut as Draco took a step towards Ron. "I've never been good. I've never been nice. But I don't want to be evil. You can either accept it or don't, Weasley. I won't dictate your life, but you can't expect to dictate mine," his words were like a fine silver dagger that stabbed Ron straight in the chest.

"Whatever," Ron mumbled, "I'm going to find a room, i'm bloody tired," he said, whomping off towards the archway. The room felt like the walls were pouring with blood from the tensity that laid within. Harry sighed, saying that he'd better be off with Ron, then Ginny after him.

Then, Hermione and Draco were the only ones left in the room. She watched as Ginny left, and took a deep breath out, turning and facing Draco. He still held the fierce barrier of his underlying emotions close, effectively turning off his feelings. Hermione suddenly wanted to cry.

Today, her childhood had died. Hogwarts was now nothing but a school she used to attend. The battle and aftermath was like a ceremony, leading her from kid-hood into the adult world, where things like death and finance existed. The outer shell that hid her away from it all had been stripped away in the battle. Every spell she fired, every curse she sent with force, it all refracted and killed the child Hermione had once been.

She'd watched people get hurt. She'd seen blood and gore beyond what any human should have seen. And it was that sight that locked her outside of the gates of childhood. A kingdom that ran free and wild, that played in dirt and liked to joke around like the Weasley twins.

Everything she'd ever known. Everything she'd ever been was now gone. She was no one. She was nothing. She'd been thrown into the deep endless ocean of adulthood. And she hated it.

"I'm sorry," Draco said. Hermione gazed at him, stunned.

"Wh- What?," she sniffled.

"For what its worth, i'm sorry," he repeated. Draco didn't hover. He swept quickly from the room, leaving Hermione in a confused trance. God, she hated adulthood.


	2. Isolation

'You're not to leave the boundary. Lights must go off at 10pm. Harry mustn't use magic until July 31st. No unforgiveable curses, whatsoever. Do not disturb the house elf, Snail. Do not send any mail. Do not compromise yourself. - Dumbledore.'

The letter was yet another indentation of the lives they were now living compared to what they'd once lived. Just another reminder of the childhood Hermione volunteered to leave behind. It had been a week and four days. She cut the line for the 11th day of isolation into the wall behind her curtain, then swept away the paint that she'd cut out. 11 entire days of confinement. On the first, she went exploring with Ginny. They went down to the fishing spot that Dumbledore had told Draco about. It was a quaint spot on a rock that had been smoothed out from the bottom of the cliff and faced the ocean, almost like a jetty. The waves tumbled dangerously close to the edge, but never touched the landing, nor Hermione and Ginny.

They walked around more of the property, eventually finding an old shed near the house. It had muggle tools in it, garden sheers and spades, most of which were covered in a thick blanket of dust and spider webs. It was obviously a part of the house that the house elf had been ordered away from. 

Hermione had found an old gun in the shed. She remembered watching the hunting shows with her father and managed to gather bullets, fix the gun, and went out rabbit hunting on the sixth day with Ginny. Hermione managed to catch 3 rabbits, while Ginny caught 4 (after a tantrum when she missed the first rabbit they saw that day). So it was rabbit stew for the rest of that week. 

While the property was vast and vibrant, Hermione couldn't help but feel the loneliness of what the isolation was. She missed her parents, whom by now would know nothing about where their daughter was or who she even was. It was the first thing she thought of the morning she woke up after they arrived from Hogwarts. She spent her time studying, a thought that crossed her mind half way through the first day. 

She found a few medical books in a cupboard in the drawing room, most of them muggle. She read them, studied bones and veins while she wasn't out exploring and hunting. After the first week, she could name every bone in her body. She was well on her day to receiving a degree if she'd been enrolled in some sort of university course. 

Ron hadn't changed his prejudiced views on Draco. More than ever he went out of his way to clash with the blond, eye him down and mutter names under his breath. Hermione hated it. She hated the isolation, but more than that, the only people she was surrounded by fighting like they were in their first year. Ron didn't seem to understand the aspect of war. He didn't grasp the situation they were in. They were alone, and needed to work together to get through everyday without breaking from insanity, yet, Ron continued with his daily 11-year-old routine without fail. 

For Hermione, It was a balancing game between keeping her own sanity, and protecting Harrys. She knew he abused to use the legilimens skills that Snape taught him. The first night, even after the battle they'd fought in during the day, was no exception. Hermione awoke to a scream. 

It was sharp and shrill, almost like a jump scare. Hermione leapt up, looking towards Ginny who had woken up too. Her eyes were wide, fear. 

Hermione threw herself out of bed, rushing towards the door and throwing herself into Harry's room. He sat awake, up and leaning against the wall beside his bed. An orange lamp illuminated the room, revealing a swimming pool of sweat that ran form his head. Hermione's heart was racing out of her chest. 

Ron was standing above him, his chest rising and falling as quick as Hermione's. 

"Harry, what happened?," Hermione quarreled, moving to the bed to sit beside him. Harry looked both tired and fed up as he moved over slightly to make room for Hermione. 

"It was him. He's angry. He just slaughtered the entire village of Dufftown. Women, children, everyone," Harry said. His eyebrows were furrowed, eyes gazing down at his hands with remorse and guilt. "The-... The worst part is... I was him. I killed those people... I wanted them dead, I don't know why but I did," he continued. 

Hermione was shocked. She felt sick. She was speechless. She knew Voldemort was able to manipulate Harry's mind, that was, afterall, what Snape was training him against. She was furious that Harry hadn't used his legilimens powers to block Voldemort from his mind, after everything Dumbledore and Snape had gone to, and everything he'd experienced. 

Hermione wasn't the only one who knew that Voldemort was angry. He was furious. He had nothing but rage towards Harry, Draco and the resistance. Hermione knew they had to be careful. She found herself pondering in the thoughts of how Dumbledore was coping? How was he helping the resistance in conquering Voldemort for good? How was the Order going? 

She was sitting in bed in her room. There were only three bedroom conveniently placed in the house. A small bedroom, which Draco resided, a slightly larger one where Harry and Ron slept, and the master bedroom with an ajoining bathroom which the boys insisted Hermione and Ginny have. The walls were washed with white paint, and there was a small balcony leading all around the house that viewed the ocean. The sun was still out, the day hotter and dryer than that of a desert. Everything took effort, too much of it in fact. But Hermione's stomach growled. 

She looked over to Ginny who was taking a nap in her bed, then quiet folded the page of her book, closing it and putting it down. Hermione crept out of her room, allowing herself to make more noise as she walked down the hallway of the home towards the stairs, entering the kitchen. 

She opened a fridge and looked inside. Pots and pans of rabbit stew inhabited the shelves, along with some bread, butter, yoghurt and a bunch of apples. 

She sighed, there was nothing really worth snacking on. Hermione turned on her heel and entered the sitting room. Ron sat inside. A glass with scotch sat in his hand, his eyes wrapped around the fireplace that he kept burning despite in infurvent heat. 

"Hey, Ron," Hermione said bravely. 

He was like a sleeping bear and she didn't want to wake him in case he lashed out. Ron didn't move his eyes from the fireplace, but acknowledged her existence with a small breath in. Hermione pursed her lips, trying to work out the best point of approach.

"How've you been?," she daringly went on. 

Ron shrugged spiteful, "wonderful," he responded. Though his words were insulting, Hermione was grateful that he answered. 

"Been busy... drinking?," she asked, raising an eyebrow at the golden liquid in his hand that rested against the maroon couch. She didn't mind him drinking. They were, afterall, in adulthood, and this was just another thing that adults did. When it got out of hand, she'd say something. 

"Super busy," Ron responded with even more sarcasm than before. Hermione felt unwelcomed, yet still stood her ground. 

"He's not that bad, Ron," Hermione said. It took even more bravery than it did to even initiate the conversation. Ron gave a furious look at her. She'd just poked the bear. His nostrils flared. 

"He's not that bad? Hermione, he's the worst!," Ron yelled. "He comes in here, gets given a house and safety after all the shit he did! His Aunt killed Sirius! Or did you forget?! What about the part when he was fired to kill Dumbledore! He was supposed to be our enemy, then when he cries for help, you all just come in and save him! Not only a week ago he would have called me 'Weaselbee' and given me a wedgie, but now you want me to just forgive him and move on? No, Hermione! I won't!"

Ron was now standing, pointing his drink towards her with a wildly red face. It was only when he stood that Hermione smelt the brewery coming from his mouth. He must have had atleast 5 glasses of scotch before the one he held in his hand. He was drunk. He was angry. It wasn't a good combination. 

"You have to get along with him, Ron!," Hermione shouted back. "Don't you see there's a war!," she yelled. 

Ron looked furious. "Just forget it!," he roared, pegging the glass of scotch into the fireplace. It smashed, and the alcohol gave a roar and exploded in the fire. 

Hermione watched him stomp from the room. She felt breathless and heartbroken. She sat down, clutching her chest as it began to shake and pound. Just as she reached the couch, Draco appeared around the corner, his eyes furrowed and his wand in his hand. 

"What happened?," he demanded, looking around the room. The glass had scattered across the carpet and littered the fireplace. Hermione felt her face glow red. She hated how prejudiced Ron was being, she knew that he wouldn't let it go easily. He was fierce like that, he held grudges and was always normally too timid to confront the issues. 

"Just Ron," Hermione said quietly, still struggling to breathe. She couldn't wipe the horrible expression of guilt and sadness from her face no matter how hard she tried. Draco noticed, and he didn't stop staring. 

He stepped forward, and Hermione's breath felt even more drawn. 

"He doesn't like me," Draco said calmly, "and i don't expect him to. Potter is accepting but constantly on-edge, Weaslette won't stop giving me death stares, and you... you just... its like you can't see my faults... you ignore everything bad about me and trust me, there's alot," he said. 

Hermione couldn't look at him, she felt if she didn't, she'd melt into the couch. 

"I trust Dumbledore," she said. Through her peripheral vision, she saw Draco shake his head. 

"You know that's not true," Draco said in a low, quiet voice that made shivers crawl up the back of Hermione's neck. She refused to speak, told herself that if she did, the words that would come out would be the ones she'd regret. "I've done bad things, Granger. I've killed people. I've hurt people. People say my name in fear. No matter how many people I save, i'll always be done for."

"Thats not true," Hermione said, finding her voice was choked. She looked over at him and saw him standing beside her. He looked down, quiet and calmly. She felt like his eyes were stabbing her in the throat. Maybe thats why she couldn't talk.

"Then why did Weaslebee lose his shit, huh? Because i'm bad, Granger. Don't try to save me, i'm a lost cause. You on the otherhand... you're pure. Keep it that way," he said. Hermione couldn't speak before he turned on his heel and left the room.


	3. Oh, Change

Hermione couldn't be around him. She felt as though her guts would simultaneously combust and she'd die instantly if she spent more than a few seconds in the same room as him. To her luck, they barely saw each other at all.

Draco spent his time curled up in his room. No one check up on him. No one even bothered to poke their head in to see if he was alive. It made Hermione sad how lonely he must have felt; as far as he was concerned, the entire household was against him.

He must have been on the edge of insanity. Hermione brushed past him less than once a day. She'd caught him entering the toilet once, and another time they stood in the kitchen. She stood idly at the sink, drinking a glass of water while he took an apple and fled back to his room.

Even while she had her friends, Hermione felt trapped within the safehouse's walls. It was like the kind view of the ocean was secretly a siren for a massacre in her mind, as though looking at it each day gave her fleeting waves of psychosis and mania that was bottled deep inside, waiting to be unleashed at an unsuspecting time.

When she thought of him, there was something in her stomach. A bug that appeared at his name or the thought of his snowy-white hair. Then, when she got distracted by her medical books, the bug crawled away, probably somewhere back into her subconsciousness where Draco Malfoy was all she thought about.

On the tempting though of 'accidentally' running into Draco, Hermione stood up from the couch in the lounge room, propping her book down so she'd still be on the page. She went into the kitchen with hope- nothing. It was empty. The cabinets normally refilled themselves when they got empty, with the bare minimum of food.

There was cereal, bread museli bars and biscuits, and the fridge was usually stocked with yoghurt, butter, milk, and fruit and veg. Hermione was satisfied with the food they were given, afterall, it was better than nothing. And she would go hunting with Ginny if they got too bored, so rabbit, fox and sometimes even deer were on the table (to Harry's dismay).

Hermione looked through the cupboards and fridge and found nothing new or anything that satisfied her. She turned on her heel and bounced up the stairs, walking across the landing and opening the door to her room.

Her jaw dropped quickly. Inside, Ginny and Harry had their mouths clasped together as though each were using the other for air. Hermione felt a ripple of first shock, then surprise, then a nervous humour cast through her stomach. Her hand that had been across her mouth dropped down, and she let herself smile.

Ginny and Harry. Harry and Ginny. She liked it. The honest thought of her two best friends being together made her happy. She knew Ginny had always had a 'thing' for Harry, and that during their sixth year of Hogwarts, Harry had accumulated feelings for her too. Hermione had always agreed to let them work it out between themselves, so that one day, they could-.

The door burst open and Harry exited the room, frazzled, his hair a bushy mess and his cheeks glowing red. He fussed around with his glasses as he closed the door. Hermione internally laughed at his awkwardness. She never knew Harry to be so clumsy. 

Her heart leapt with the idea that Harry and Ginny would be together. She loved them both too dearly, and thought the combination worked perfectly.

"Harry, are you and Ginny-," Hermione began excitedly, a smile rippling her face helplessly.

"Not officially," Harry quickly said, brushing a hand through his hair. "Just don't tell Ron. We don't want to upset him further," Harry requested. Hermione would adhere faithfully to the request, as she too didn't want to see Ron in an already worse state than he was. "Want some dinner?," Harry suggested, changing the tone of their conversation, more likely to try and get Hermione off the topic.

"I was just in the kitchen, there's nothing there," she said as Harry swept past her towards the stairs.

"We'll check again, then. I'm starving," he said, bouncing downwards and out of sight. Hermione wanted to go into her room and check on Ginny, ask her questions and prod into her relationship with Harry, but his feet running towards the kitchen changed her objective, and she followed Harry.

When she got downstairs he was already in the fridge, inspecting what food they had left over. "So, got your eye on anyone, 'MIone," he asked casually, still moving things around on the cold shelves. Hermione felt a small pang.

"I don't-," she began to say, slightly frazzled with his sharpness.

"I know it's not Ron," Harry continued, daringly, exiting the fridge with a jar of peaches in watery juice. He stopped and looked at Hermione, a deadly serious look framing his face. Hermione felt scared. Harry store intrusively, like he was about to perform legilimency, enter her mind and find out every thought she'd ever had about the blond haired boy. "I'm not angry, If you're wondering," he went on finally.

"I'm not 'in love', Harry. I don't even know if I like him," she went on cautiously. Hermione knew how much Harry loathed Malfoy. She was surprised how leanient Harry had been towards him so far, considering everything Malfoy had done to Harry and Ron. She didn't know how tolerant Harry would be to their 'boy' talk. Any other boy would have been suffering, but this must have been torture.

"Are you sure?," Harry asked, slightly sarcastic, "everytime you two are together its like the air just turned into ice," he said. Hermione felt like the words we a knife. A knife would have been easier.

"I've- I've never been in love, Harry," Hermione said.

"He doesn't know what love is," Harry went on.

"I- I don't know how to do it," Hermione admitted scaredlly. "I don't want to upset you or Ron or Ginny either. And I don't even know if he likes me," she said. She felt all the bottled up fear erupt from her lips like a volcano. It felt easier with the words out in the air, letting Harry pick at them and work out a solution, but she still had a bad feeling inside of her gut that forced it all back down.

"Hermione. He never leaves his room. He is obviously head over heels and feels exactly the same way as you do," Harry said.

Hermione fought back bitter tears. The idea that she might be in love with Malfoy had never truly hit her. She always pushed the notion away, taped it in a box and left it somewhere far at the back of her mind. She didn't want to love him. Draco Malfoy was a bad person. He had hurt people before. He was a bad person. Yet, something inside of him forced her to think otherwise.

Ever since they arrived he hadn't been cruel, he hadn't taunted Harry or Ron or pulled some juvenile trick on any of them. Hermione had thought about Draco Malfoy, not about loving him, but more of an analysis. Malfoy was now a shell. All he'd ever known growing up in a prejudiced pure blood manor was now down the drain, leaving him moral-less and empty. He had no rules, no bindings, nothing that could hold him back from doing anything, and yet, he locked himself in his room, and left roughly once a day, quite possibly less.

So what had happened? What changed the once daring Slytherin who would was once full of life and endless bullying, now merely a shell? War, most likely.

He'd been stripped of everything. His inheritance and his power had now been relinquished to nothing but a mere thought of what he once had. Why did Malfoy leave the Death Eaters? He had everything and yet he chose a path where he had nothing but a tainted reputation and inevitable death. Why? Why? Why? Hermione couldn't figure it out.

Fear? No. If he had of ignored Dumbledore and killed him, Voldemort would have boosted Draco high into his ranks, leaving him safely somewhere between his Aunt and Fenrir Greyback, and ultimately redeeming the Malfoy name within the Death Eater ranks. Hermione bit her lip. Maybe it was fear? Maybe he knew that Voldemort would probably kill either him, his father or his mother before the war even ended? Maybe that's what drove him? The redemption he'd receive for helping them win the war would be to redeem the Malfoy name to a good status then disappear with him mother and father, somewhere they wouldn't disturb a single soul.

It baffled Hermione for the next few days. Why? Why? Why? She'd think it between every word of her medical books, when she was cooking a lousy dinner, the thoughts began to grow intrusive when she was lying in bed, trying to sleep. Some nights Hermione never slept. Some nights were spent dallying in things like where her parents were, what the Weasley's were doing, what Dumbledore was doing, and Malfoy. Oh, Malfoy.


	4. Water Harpy

Sometimes the thoughts would disappear. Those moments when Hermione was distracted by something else, like when she talked to Ginny or was thinking about Ron. They were good moments. Her stomach would loosen, her eyes would release and she felt all around better about everything in those moments. They never lasted, but they always felt nice for the while.

"We're going swimming," Ginny had ordered an hour earlier. She had told Hermione that it was just the two of them, and they'd agreed to go swimming in their bra and underwear. "I'll swim naked for all I care! We've been here for ages and I still haven't even touched the bloody water!," Ginny had cried dramatically.

Hermione had no choice but to follow Ginny from their room that morning. It had been so long since Hermione last went for a swim, she felt as though she might forget and accidentally drown. The girls bounced down the stairs, and Hermione froze.

Draco was there, leaning against the bench with an apple in his hand. Harry was standing across from Draco at the opposite bench. They appeared to be deep in conversation before Hermione and Ginny had interrupted.

"Where are you two going?," Harry demanded, almost jealously.

Hermione couldn't talk. Her tongue felt frozen in her jaw. Draco was looking at her. She was looking and staring, and barely took the time to blink let alone look away. It was penetrating, like he'd seen her over the past few days, but never cared to take the liberty to actually look. It made a sick, spinning feeling elope inside Hermione's stomach.

"To swim!," Ginny announced, opening to glass door and pulling Hermione out with her, leaving the boys inside, both slightly flabbergasted.

Hermione didn't have time to turn around and look at Draco before they were walking across the back lawn towards the start of the stairway that led down to the base of the cliff where the ocean laid. Hermione didn't have time to prepare when Ginny apparated.

Hermione blinked, and she appeared at the bottom of the cliff. It was dark, covered by the overhanging, tall shadow, and therefore quite windy and chilly. It took a moment to adjust before Hermione looked around.

The cliff surrounded them like a bay, with a short beach all the way around and crystal blue, calm water beyond that. From the base of the stairs that steeply led from the top of the cliff to the bottom, there was an old wooden landing, and from that, a small jetty had been erected. At the end of the jetty, Hermione could see a ladder pillowing into the lapping water.

"Lovely," Ginny said to herself. She started off towards the end of the jetty, leaving Hermione to hurriedly follow her.

"I didn't know you could apparate, Gin," Hermione said, surprisedly.

"I paid Fred and George fifty galleons to teach me. I figured with a war on the way, laws don't really matter. They're not going to arrest a 16 year old witch who can apparate when Voldemort is on the lose," Ginny explained.

Hermione saw her point. Being able to apparate was a good skill to have in a war, and she didn't blame Ginny for gaining early access to the skill, even if it was illegal.

She followed Ginny to the end of the jetty. She threw off her shirt and pulled her pants off, and before Hermione could prepare, Ginny had thrown herself from the end, and bombed into the water, causing the largest splash. Hermione was hit with cool water that reflected on her skin like tiny diamonds. 

It was almost like a heroin addict had a hit waved under his nose. Hermione slowly unbuttoned her pants and pulled them off, feeling heavily exposed. She looked around self consciously. Ginny was in the water, swimming towards the ocean. No one else was around. 

Hermione slowly pulled her t-shirt off, and quickly jumped into the water. She felt the bubbly sensation of water swallowing her whole. It felt good and relieving. Her head rose back above the surface, and Hermione felt her muscles relax into the water. It had been a long time since she'd been swimming. 

The last was perhaps when she was forced into the Black Lake by Dumbledore for the Triwizard tournament, even though it wasn't really swimming. It was more... drowning. Either way, Hermione felt the years from her childhood slowly float to the top of the water with her. The times when she was little when her father would teach her to swim, going on holidays to Greece and little things like having a bath, that at the time didn't matter, but now, Hermione realised she'd taken for granted. 

Hermione wasn't scared of the creatures that lurked beneath her feet, metres from her under the water. Not when there were bigger things to be afraid of in the world. She took a gulp of air, and submerged herself once again, ripping the hair tie that held her hair in tact, and sliding it up her wrist. 

The long, tangled mess on her head released itself, and with it, Hermione felt a relieving sense of pressure brush from her. She normally tied it up messily on top of her head, because she didn't really care for her vanity to do her hair up properly, and she preferred it out of the water for when she read and went hunting. 

When it was out and dry, Hermione's hair was a long, tangly brown mess. Curls upon curls swirled around her face, all the way down her back. And when it was wet, Hermione's hair merely stretched out, still curly, but only to reach her hips. 

Hermione swished her head around the water before coming up above the surface again, gulping back out the air and regaining her breath. Ginny was beside her, wading in the water, smiling at Hermione. 

"Wanna swim over to that rock?," Ginny suggested, nodding to a large boulder that erupted from the ocean. The water was calm, and it was a warm day. Why not?

"Sure. But i'm not racing you, i'm scared i'll drown," Hermione admitted. 

Together, they slowly swam over to the rock, which was much further than Hermione anticipated, yet, they were there within 2 minutes of swimming. Hermione's arms and core ached by the time she reached it. She threw her arms on top, and let her body go limp and flow along with the water. 

Hermione struggled to breathe, but after a few seconds she managed to collect herself. The rock was a round, jutting object that could have squished in a few people if anyone tried hard enough. Ginny was digging through the clams and shells that littered the divots and craters of the rock. 

"So, i think i'm in love with Harry Potter," she said out-of-the-blue. Hermione stopped for a moment and looked towards Ginny. She knew Ginny would bring it up eventually. They were best friends and the only two girls in the house- it was inevitable. But Hermione knew Ginny had always been iffy with feelings. Ginny was tough and boyish, therefore, the thought of being in love made her feel sticky and gross. 

"Yes, judging by the way you two were sucking each others faces off like a Dementor, i'd say that you're both very much in love," Hermione said, almost sprinkling a touch of sarcasm. Ginny let out a laugh and picked up a small, white, circular shell and began playing with it. 

"I don't know, 'Mione," she sighed, toying with the shell, "It feels so good, but everytime I think about our future, all I see is war. I don't know if he's going to-." 

"He's going to survive," Hermione said fiercely. She asserted an amount of dominance into the sentence that even surprised herself. She didn't realise her eyebrows were raised and lips tightly zipped in Ginny's direction until she'd gotten over the fact that she'd actually said the words so nastily. 

Harry dying was something so raw yet likely hurt Hermione to think about. She'd gone over the statistics. An army of over a hundred skilled Death Eaters recruited along with dozens of Trolls, Vampires, Werewolves, thousands of Dementors and an uncertain amount of other creatures, against Harry, who was a 16 year old wizard, merely protected by roughly a dozen other wizarding folk who would genuinely give their lives to him. The rest were just posers or would never die for Harry if the time ever came. The list included mostly Weasleys, Dumbledore, Tonks, Lupin, Moody, Kingsley and McGonagall, give or take. The rest were too limited in their skills. 

Hermione felt like the tone had severely gingered the conversation, and suddenly felt bad for Ginny. 

"I know how hard it will be... but its Harry. He has to survive," Hermione continued cautiously. Ginny seemed fine with both of Hermione's sentences. She was never a person to hold grudges, a more boyish and tolerant trait that Hermione liked of her. She'd seen it in Bill, Percy and Fred as well. 

"Yeah, you're probably right. He's evaded Moldy Voldy three times, whats another three?," Ginny teased, letting out a laugh. Hermione didn't like joking about her best friends death, but laughed fakely anyway. She wasn't mad at Ginny, it was merely a way of coping with such stress. "I'm bloody hungry, i'll go and make us some food and bring it down," Ginny said. 

"Ok," Hermione said. By the time she'd said it, Ginny had already launched from the rock and was already swimming back towards the jetty. Ginny ventured up the ladder, grabbing a towel and drying herself off before apparating away. Hermione admired that skill. 

She sank calmly into the water, soaking up the clear, salty sea while she had the time to be alone. She new by nightfall that her eyes would sting, her mouth would be dry and her hair would be a complete and utter mess to wash and untangle, but in the moment it felt relieving. It felt like all the stress had eaten her insides away, and the salt water was some kind of miracle bath that filled her back up again. 

Hermione didn't admire being alone for so long. Intrusive thoughts like 'what if the Death Eaters got there?' and 'what if somethings wrong with Harry?' struck through her over and over without remorse and regret. Hermione turned around and looked behind her shoulder. The waves slowly eloped along the shoreline, exactly as they had before. Why was it different? 

Hermione couldn't help but feel something bottle up inside herself. It was like pending doom. She couldn't release her breath. Something inside of her felt terribly, terribly wrong. 

Hermione had no time to think, when there was a loud pop, and above her Draco appeared on the rock. Flabbergasted, Hermione pushed off. He stood, still fully clothed, however his face was red and he was reaching both his arms down towards her. 

"Hermione, get out of the water," he quickly dashed through the words. Hermione didn't have anytime to react. "NOW," he roared. 

Hermione couldn't talk as she slowly brought herself closer to Malfoy. His hands were out for her to grab, yet she felt enticed to push even further away than before. They were large and manly. She felt scared touching them, but gently laid her finger against the skin of his palm. He ripped his hands around her wrists and pulled her effortlessly from on water and onto the rock, allowing a splashing sound to follow, while Hermione gathered herself. 

She felt naked next to him, then, she realised. Draco's body was pressed up against hers, his arm wrapped around her back, clutching one shoulder while his other hand held her other shoulder, in a sort of protective side hug position. 

"Malfoy, what-?," she began quietly. 

"Look," he said, pointing at the water. 

Hermione looked down and saw nothing. The ripples of small waves danced along the top of the blue water, and nothing seemed odd or even out-of-place. It was only when Hermione kept looking, that she saw a dark, shapeless shadow cut through the water deep below. Her breath hitched even more. 

"Water Harpies," he said. Hermione looked from the water back towards Malfoy with a sick feeling in her gut, but realised he was already staring. He wasn't wet, but clinging to Hermione had caused his black clothes to become slightly sodden and damp. 

Though Hermione felt subjected, he wasn't staring at her practically-naked body. He was staring into her eyes. She felt a magnet wrap around Draco, and suddenly, she couldn't let go. He bent down and kissed her. 

Draco's lips were warm as Hermione had been in the water, yet, they were dominating, and helped Hermione shape and form herself around him. Though she was freezing in the wind, Hermione felt warm and gooey. She felt like he was her mould. She felt like they were attached further than their lips, it was their hearts, minds, souls. 

As quickly as he'd swooped down, Draco lifted his head back up. Hermione tried to reached up and let in one last peck, but Draco had straightened his back. He looked down at her with longing and envy. Like she was a drug and he just wanted more. Hermione saw him swallow deeply, and without another word, he apparated away.


	5. Once It Reaches The Brain

Hermione did the only thing she could; hide. It was like a little 12 year old girl inhabited her mind, and told her to avoid Malfoy at all costs. But why? She wanted him so badly, and he was there, so why was she hiding?

Fear was one of the main factors, along with embarrassment and stress. It had been a month and they still hadn't heard a peep from the outside world. Hermione was growing pedantic along with Ginny, Ron and Harry (Draco was never around). They were slowly, but surely loosing their minds. And with each day that passed with no new news, a tiny fragment of optimism chipped away at them all. Hermione didn't know how much longer it would take before there was nothing left.

Ron had began drinking. He would fill a glass with tap water and conjure it into scotch, sit on his throne in the living room and watch the fire spit and crackle every evening after dinner. Sometimes Hermione caught him drinking from a hip flask during the day. He always smelt of alcohol, always produced the same gloomy glare, and was always either drunk, hungover, or the transitional process in between.

It worried Hermione to see him like that, but at the same time, she couldn't take it away from him. They all had habits. Harry had started smoking. At first, he'd tried to hide it from her- from all of them. It was only until two weeks after he'd started when Hermione smelt the roaming scent of burning tobacco and wandered downstairs thinking Ron was experimenting with even more substances, that she found Harry waging himself behind the cigarette.

Harry was perhaps the most stressed of all. He knew the war rested on his shoulders, yet Dumbledore had subsided him to Aberforth's safe house and left him with no news. Hermione understood. He was chomping at any piece of information, craving for anything he could get like a heroin addict who'd run out of money. What if someone has died? What if the Death Eaters attack innocent people? What if? What if? What if!

Hermione never saw Draco enough to see what his secret indulgence to ease his stresses were. After a short amount of thinking, Hermione gathered that he had to almost be as stressed and worried as Harry. He'd left his family behind, so what of them? Voldemort was callous and cold, and Lucius had brought him dismay once before, so what was to say that Voldemort made it his vendetta to end the Malfoys?

Draco would be a target, nonetheless. His betrayal would have rippled across the Death Eaters and tainted what was left of the Malfoys. Would Lucius and Narcissa be happy or angry that their son got away? Hermione knew they'd be prejudiced enough to be mad, but something light inside of her fought for the former. Maybe Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy were secretly grateful their son had escaped? Maybe they prayed for his safety and wellbeing?

They were all stressed. Harry smoked, Ron drank, Draco hid, and Ginny cried quietly beside Hermione in their room late at night when she thought Hermione was asleep. What of Hermione?

The bookworm spent her days in books, reading and reading medical information that was both interesting and useful. What kinds of infections could occur with cuts, antibiotics, natural remedies, the names of injuries, dermatology diseases- the works. She made the house elf, Snail buy them for her since she couldn't leave the house.

Snail was an unsurprisingly slow, ancient house elf, due to die any day. He spent his days wavering about the Dumbledore's. He lusted over his former owner, Kendra Dumbledore, whom Hermione quickly realised was Albus' mother.

"Mistress Kendra was always warm and kind to old Snail...," the creature would croak while cleaning shelves, "Mistress Kendra asked Snail to keep a secret... Old Snail will always serve the Dumbledore's..."

Hermione didn't go near the eld, neither did anyone else. He seemed slightly odd, like a traumatised animal. Hermione feared if she physically got too close, he'd turn around and bite. Nonetheless, she requested books, Harry asked for cigarettes and Ron for scotch, Ginny asked for gun instruction books and Snail delivered, along with the weekly grocery shop.

Hermione liked reading. It was like whenever she poked her head into a book, it was fall off and her mind would absorb the book, so she would become one with the pages- with the words. Reading made her forget the life that she was in. The words strung together and blinded her until she thought she was in a different world- inside of the pages. It was probably the best part about reading. Whenever she thought about her parents or Draco, she simply stuck her head into a book, and soon enough, she was too wrapped up in the pages to remember who and where she was.

It was only when she looked up from her book. A sudden impulse to stretch her neck, that Hermione realised she was indeed in her room, and not a medical student in Albania, studying the long-term effects of the cruciatus curse. There was shouting coming from downstairs. Hermione leapt from her bed, leaving her thick book behind. Had Ron finally lost it?

The yelling was more of a roar, back and forth, people screamed at each other. Hermione felt adrenaline kick in. If Ron had lost himself, she'd have to figure out a way to control him. She'd immobilise him, calm him down until she could comfortably retract the counter-curse.

Hermione rushed downstairs, the yelling growing louder and louder, until she burst through the lounge room, and the fighting stopped. Harry, Ron, Ginny and Draco were all in the lounge room standing defensively in each of the four corners. They looked shocked as Hermione had entered, and store at her like they wanted their eyes to drill a hole through her head. What had they been fighting about?

Ron had a drink in his hand and a furious look about him, but Harry had the most furious look of all. Harry store sharp daggers across the room, even at Hermione, when she thought she hadn't done anything wrong.

"What is going on?," she asked, slightly worriedly. The looks they gave her were dirty, like she'd done something catastrophically wrong. "I heard yelling," she added, slightly more nervously after no one spoke.

Ginny gave after a second, but still had a thick expression wrapped on her face. "Harry wants to leave the safehouse," she said, almost in an enraged tone.

"What?," Hermione drew, turning to look at Harry. He rolled his eyes, throwing away his shell of anger and throwing himself onto a couch lazily.

"Thanks alot, Gin," he muttered.

"Why didn't you tell me?," she demanded, towering over Harry with her arms crossed and eyebrows furrowed.

"Because he knew exactly what you'd say," Draco intervened. Hermione turned to glance at him once, and as she did, their eyes caught for a fraction of a second, but he looked away.

"And that's no, right?," Hermione said, looking back at Harry.

"Yep," Harry said boredly.

Hermione stood over Harry tensely. She had a feeling he might one day do this. He was an impulsive person, running strictly on adrenaline and the guilt of his past. He hated sitting alone, waiting for Voldemort to take over Europe, Harry wanted to fight. He wanted to fight more than anything in the world, to avenge his parents and Cedric and Sirius, but he was refined to a beach house that he wasn't even allowed to leave. He couldn't even use magic because he was still underage.

Hermione sighed. She didn't want to restrain Harry or even try to for that matter. He wanted to fight, and that was all there was to it. Hermione couldn't hold back the fire that was inside of him. It was too strong. He had too much willpower to go out and kill Voldemort. He was desperate for blood, it would be wrong for Hermione to try and deny him that pleasure and force him to sit like a duck in crocodile infested water. But she had to.

Dumbledore's orders were the most important thing to follow, and it had been his number 1 on the list he'd sent. 'You're not to leave the boundary... do not compromise yourselves...'. They were firm, indicating rules that Hermione knew they had to follow. Do not leave the boundary.

"You don't understand, Hermione," Harry said helplessly, clasping his thumb and pointer fingers against the bridge of his nose and rubbing it with a sigh. "People are dying. Dumbledore won't give us any information, no letters, not even the Daily Prophet."

"You think I don't understand?," Hermione said, wavering her eyebrows high as she store at him angrily. "I had to make my parents forget that I ever existed just to be here, Harry," she said with a wild anger in her throat. "I've stuck with you for seven years. I was with you when Cedric died, and Sirius, and when everything went down, I was by your side! I understand completely, Harry! I know people are dying! Ginny knows! Ron knows! Malfoy knows!"

"Then why can't you let me do anything about it!," Harry roared, jumping up from his seat. His voice bellowed from his chest, and his shoulders rose and fell quicker and quicker as he store at Hermione, merely inches away from her face.

"Ok. Go! You leave this safehouse and the minute you cross the boundary the Death Eaters will be on your tail! You think that pure luck and optimism and hope is going to save you again? They'll kill you! I DON'T WANT YOU TO DIE," Hermione felt like she'd torn her throat screaming at Harry.

"She's right, Potter," Draco said calmly. Harry cast his glare to Draco. "I know what they're like. I've been a Death Eater. They don't leave anything to chance. They know this place is a potential safehouse because they know it belongs to Aberforth. There's probably Death Eaters hidden all along the property fence. That's why I don't like the girls going hunting or swimming. The minute you pass that line, they'll know, and they will mercilessly kill you."

Draco looked at Hermione. She felt his cool stare. Protection. He had stayed away from her to protect her. From what? He wasn't dangerous? He wasn't going to hurt her? Hermione felt her stomach turn to goo and her cheeks turn pink. She looked down.

He had hidden away for her. Her mind flushed back to the kiss. The way he'd cradled her in his arms, eloped his lips dominantly into hers, held himself back as an overall expense. He hated when she went hunting? What for? She and Ginny both had guns, and they were getting excellent at aiming and shooting fast-moving rabbits from far distances. A human was bigger and slower than a rabbit.

"When do you reckon they're gonna come and save us then, eh, Malfoy?," Ron bit in. Hermione turned her attention to him. She had a feeling he'd stick up for Harry. He was no doubt drunk and had been sitting on the couch, lying in wait for over a month.

"Obviously when they can, Weaslebee," Draco said. He jutted his chin towards Ron, and Hermione looked down to see his fists balled so tightly they'd turned white. No. No, no, no. She didn't want them to fight. She'd never hear the end of it if they fought.

"How long do you think they're gonna be lying in wait for us to come out? Do you reckon they'll see one of the girls one day and decide they've waited long enough? We're sitting ducks, Hermione! They're going to kill us either way! We're just prolonging the inevitable! We have to atleast try to escape before they get in!," Ron bellowed. And there is was. His argument, his trauma, his drink, laid across the air for Hermione to acknowledge and understand.

That was what ate him. That's why he drunk and was constantly brooding on his spot on the couch like an alcoholic. He knew that they were going to die. Ron had the idea that Death Eaters were going to get past Dumbledore's boundaries. They wouldn't. They couldn't. Dumbledore had learnt from his mistakes back in 1981 to understand what he needed to do right for this time around. He would have used charms and defensive spells far beyond what the average wizard would have had to use. They were safe. Weren't they?

"Ron, we're not going to die!," Hermione yelled. A crack in her voice tainted gloss over her eyes, and Hermione felt her chin begin to quiver. "We just... We have to stay put..."

Hermione retreated to her room, an undying feeling of hopelessness inside of her. She knew that if Dumbledore didn't hurry up and give them anything- a newspaper clipping, a letter, any sign of information as to what was happening, that Harry would take it upon himself to leave. It was the most impulsive thing about him.

Her heart was beating out of her chest. More than ever she wanted to escape to a book. She bounded up the stairs, jumping up them by twos, reaching the landing, but as she went to grab the door handle to her room, a hand caught her wrist.

She pushed it back.

"No, Harry!," her shaking voice fought. She turned around. It wasn't Harry. It was Draco.

Hermione felt her knees weaken. She felt him pull her by her wrist into him. They fit perfectly inside each other, like yin and yang. She felt her face press close against his chest- he was much taller than she was. He smelt of pine trees and peppermint, and calming combination that could have associated with lavender and helped her go to sleep.

She felt her face curl up and tears stream down her cheeks onto his black hoodie. She hated it. She hated loving him in such a time of hate. For all they knew, Dumbledore could be dead, the Order could have been demolished and they were just waiting for someone impulsive like Harry or Ron to flee the boundary and break the spells that protected them. No. She couldn't think like that.

Dumbledore was fine, so was Moody and Kingsley and McGonagall and the entire Order. They just needed to wait. Silently. Do not compromise yourselves.

Hermione was crying for the sake of crying. Her parents, Harry, the isolation- everything. Everything that had been inside her head for over the past month spilled out like an overflowing kiddie pool. Tears represented sadness, pessimism and gloom. There was too much inside of her to hold back, too much of everything.

"Shhhh," she felt Draco whisper, and the feeling of his chin resting on her head soon made her cry even more. He ran this hand up the back of her hair, curling the faintest curls within his finger. It was more calming than any potion Hermione had ever taken for things like anxiety and insomnia. Who needed drugs when Draco was embraced in her arms.

Hermione felt the tears subside, and she lifted her head up to look at him. Draco moved his chin out of the way to stare back at her. Though her face was tainted with watery tears and almost as red as wine, she couldn't stop looking at him.

He looked so young, yet so old. The boyish trace he once held was beginning to fade. There was something new, and dark inside of him. His face that was once smooth and a light pink was now slightly wrinkled and completely alabaster, if anything, it was more blue. Stress had eaten Draco Malfoy to the bone. His eyes were probably the most taunted of all. They were stained with what he'd seen. Hermione couldn't begin to imagine what the inside of his head looked like.

Hermione felt Draco's hand slide downward. It crept from the back of her neck, down and down until he grabbed the arch of her back, and pulled her up. Her legs instinctively coiled around his waist, and he held her upright. Hermione buried her face into Draco's shoulder as he walked into his room, carrying her as though she was a sleepy child.

Hermione felt something bloom. Something inside of her shifted and moved around. It was cold, but deep inside, something had began to warm, like lighting a fire deep within a blizzard. It was subtle, but undoubtably there.

She bounced with every step Draco took, until he stopped walking and crouched over, letting Hermione fall an inch through the air and land on a bed. His. She smelt the peppermint and pine.

Draco's room was tiny, more of a closet if anything. There was a tiny single bed that laid up against a wall and a small empty desk beside it. A window hung across from the bed, sparking moonlight into the room. It was plain. Bare. Empty. His clothes must have been hidden in a basket somewhere underneath the bed.

Hermione looked up at him. "Why are we here?," she asked softly. A brittle expression took ahold of Malfoy's face. He looked as though he was hoping she wouldn't ask that question. He looked down. Hermione bit her lip nervously.

"I... um... I don't... I can't stay away from you," he said. Hermione felt like she'd been struck by lightning. She store back up at him, the fire inside of her growing and growing.

"Then don't," the words barely prickled from her lips.

It didn't take long, but Draco crawled into bed, tucking her back deeply into his chest, hugging her from behind. His arms were wrapped tightly, even breathing, Hermione felt as though she might awaken him.

Draco Malfoy was a sudden comfort. He was something to keep fighting for. A love? A romance? He was everything. Hermione felt that if Draco was ever hurt, the world might have stopped spinning, and not in a pretentious, self-absorbed way. She would do anything in her power to make Draco Malfoy live and breathe. His steady, cool breath gracing the back of her neck gave her comfort.

Hermione felt calm nestled into Draco. He took away the stress, the anxiety, the fear of everything. Hermione knew that it had reached her brain. The idea of love. Falling irrevocably for something. She first fell in love with her parents, then books, then Hogwarts, and maybe now she'd found something else; Malfoy.


	6. Selfish, Selfish, Selfish!

And like a tree, Hermione grew onto Malfoy. She weaved her branches and sprouted leaves all around him, grew attached to his smell, and his alabaster eyes that reminded her of the moon. When morning came, Hermione woke up. Her face was stiff and sore from having laid a nest into the mattress, but she rose nonetheless. Her eyes fluttered to get used to the light, but before long, she stood up from the bed. Her muscles were atrophied from the nights sleep, but took only a minute of balancing carefully to readjust.

Hermione sighed, her mouth dry and parched. She went downstairs where Ginny was standing over the stovetop. She was pouring her heart into a pot where a thick, chunky cream-coloured mixture laid at the bottom. She stirred with brutality. If the mysterious concoction had a face, Ginny would no doubt have slapped it.

"What're you doing?," Hermione asked curiously, "is that supposed to be oatmeal?" Ginny gave a scoff and turned, serving Hermione an eye-roll.

"Its supposed to be, but i think we can all agree Mum was a better cook." Hermione let out a laugh and went over to offer her friend help. She added some milk and cinnamon to the mixture, then gave the wooden spoon back to the mesmerised Ginny after Hermione was satisfied with her work.

"There," Hermione said happily. She went over to a cupboard and picked out a glass cup, then filled it up with cold water from the sink and took a sip, cooling down the violent dryness in her throat.

"So where did you sleep last night?," Ginny asked, "I noticed Malfoy decided to follow you out of the lounge room," she added. Hermione felt a pang hit her in the gut. She hadn't thought about what she'd tell the others. Did Draco even want Hermione to tell people about their relationship? Where was he?

"Well... i... um...," Hermione fumbled over the words, "we just slept," she finally bled. Ginny had an amused look on her face.

"Slept, huh?," she said. Hermione scoffed.

"Come on, Gin! Atleast i don't stuff my tongue down his throat like you've done to Harry numerous times during the past month," Hermione pointed out. Ginny blushed the colour of a rose and retrieved a bowl from the overhead cupboard.

"I guess I'm just happy for you," she said, placing the bowl down on the bench and spooning the oatmeal into it. "It's not like you've had the best time lately," she added. Hermione nodded.

After Ginny left the kitchen, Hermione tipped the remainder of her water into the sink and bounded back upstairs, entering her room. Ginny wasn't in there- Hermione presumed she'd gone inside. The room was messy. Hermione had really let herself go. Clothes were strewn across the floor, and a meticulous mess of finished books created a dome shape around Hermione bed where she'd finished them and gone onto the next. The was no burning in her lungs to clean it up, so she merely walked over them to the stack that was piled next to the door to their balcony, picking one from the top and turning back around.

Hermione store at her bed. There was a sudden repulse. The mattress topper was dirty and crinkled, and the sun that poured through the door was warming up their room to an uncomfortable heat. It wasn't like that in Draco's room. His setting was cool and sly, almost dangerous. He must have cast a temperature charm or atleast made the right choice to ensure the sun didn't rise right outside his window. He wasn't even at home? Hermione wondered where he could be. Maybe Ginny had pointed him on the guns and he was on a quest? Maybe he'd gone for a swim? Her mind was made up.

Hermione crept down the hallway and re-entered Draco's room. It was still empty. Hermione sat on his bed, the cool, clean sheets felt what she imagined would be much nicer than her own. She opened her book on counter curses for hexes and jinxes, and began reading. She poured and poured her soul and attention into the book, reading until her bottom and legs went numb. Hermione was only taken away from the pages when the door to the room swung open, scaring her half to death. It was Ginny. She didn't enter, but still had a grip on the handle and merely leaned in boredly.

"Want to come hunting?," she asked, raising her eyebrows and giving a 'pretty please' look on her face.

"Isn't Draco out hunting?," Hermione asked. Ginny removed the look on her face and replaced it with one that reminded Hermione of the time she once ate a sour grape.

"No? Is he supposed to be?," she said. Hermione dismissed Ginny and stood up, making a mental note of the page number she was up to and setting the book back down.

Over the duration of a month, Hermione had picked up on several things while she was hunting. Always tie your hair up, keep the rifle in the right position, remember to breathe, wear long boots. She got ready, dressing in a raggy t-shirt and jeans and transforming her casual flats into long hunting boots with thick dragon hide on the outside. She tied her dirty hair up onto her head, ensuring it was out of her face before retreating from her room and meeting Ginny out the front of the house.

Hermione and Ginny had made a mental note of the boundary and where they were to shoot, and where they were to avoid. There was a muggle highway only a kilometre from the house, but anything past the gate that was beside the highway was invisible to both muggles and anyone who wasn't supposed to know the house existed. They shot away from the highway toward the ocean, always ensuring to avoid the house. There was a dense forest neighbouring the west of the house, past a small field. The boundary stretched into the dark, cool forest, and Hermione and Ginny could tell where the property ended by tags that faced toward them, painted a vibrant neon orange.

They were both wearing thick boots, letting the sticks and leaves crunch underneath their feet. As soon as Ginny and Hermione entered the forest, they were sheltered by the cool of the leaves. There was no wind, and the only sound came from the swaying of the dense trees. Hermione and Ginny walked toward a fallen tree- one that they regularly visited. The tree reached their shoulders when they stood. Hermione wondered when it had died and fallen from the ground? It had to be a hundred years old. She wondered what it would say if it could speak? What it had seen if it had eyes? Ginny stood up, propping the rifle up on the tree. It was the perfect height, all she had to do was shift her weight and aim through the glass.

In the distance was a rabbit. It was a light brown colour and stood out from the dark ground. Their breaths hitched. Everything was silent but the songs of birds that called from above them. Ginny carefully calculated and aimed which the rabbit nibbled in the leaves. Then. PEW! The rabbit was dead in less than a second.

Hermione and Ginny did this routine for roughly two hours, shooting rabbits, running around the tree to collect them then waiting for the next to fall into their trap. It was therapeutic. Calming.

After they'd shot 5 rabbits, Hermione gathered them by their legs, tying a piece of string around 5 rabbit feet and carrying it in her hand as they walked back to the house. The rabbits were fairly light but still a decent size. Hermione thought she could try making pies with the meat at some stage. The girls reached the house, putting the guns back in the shed before taking off their boots and entering with the rabbits.

"I'll skin them this time," Ginny offered, taking the bundles of dead fur from Hermione.

She didn't know what to do. Perhaps Draco was back? The thought raced into Hermione's mind. She let Ginny have the rabbits, and jumped up the stairs, going to the end of the hallway and stopping outside Draco's room. The door was shut. Either someone closed it, or he was inside. Hermione felt herself glitch for a moment, the sick feeling in her gut returned. She took a breath and opened the door. Sure enough, Draco was inside.

He was in his desk chair, sitting at the empty desk merely staring at his hands. Draco jumped when Hermione opened the door. His face was paler than usual. His hands were placed limply on the desk in front of him as though they were numb. There was sweat persperating from the back of his neck and his forehead. His eyes were wide and the whites were tainted red. Something was wrong.

"Draco," Hermione said softly. She didn't know what to do. She didn't know whether she was supposed to be in his room or not. She felt like a cold day in summer- intrusive.

"Hermione- I- um-," he stuttered. Draco pushed his chair back, his hands still limp, and attempted to stand but as he did, his legs forced him back into the seat with a thud. It was like he'd been in a severe form of shock. Hermione hadn't seen anything like it, but she had a unconscious feeling that she'd read it.

"What have you done? Where have you been?," Hermione demanded, quickly closing the door to stand beside him. He was tense and unsure. Hermione could see there was an answer forming in his lips, but he struggled to speak it. Draco caved.

"I was out. Ok. I left the safehouse." Hermione didn't know how to react. Anger? Pity? "Why?," was the first thing that escaped her lips. She store at him with confusion. Only the night before had he sided with her in the argument, saying that they needed to stay in the safehouse. In his own words, he'd said that the Death Eaters would know instantly if they left the confinement of the property. What part of his own words didn't he understand. Don't compromise yourselves.

"I met with my parents," he said. Hermione couldn't speak. She could only listen. "Well, I went home to find my mother. She told me they've taken almost half of Britain now. You-Know-Who has killed over 500 muggleborns," he said, looking up at her with the deepest look of guilt Hermione had ever seen him muster. "His top priority is finding us, especially Harry. She told me to leave after that but I didn't. My father came in. He saw me and exploded. He used to cruciatus curse on me for over 2 minutes. My mother had to stun him in order to get me out," Draco said.

Hermione was lost for words. It wasn't fair, was the first thing that traced her mind. How did he get to see his mother, yet she had been forced to make her parents forget she ever existed. Hermione couldn't just stroll from the property and go down for tea with her mother. Just leaving the driveway would get her murdered for her blood status and assosiations.

"Why did you leave?," she asked. Her voice quivered and tears threatened to break the tide of her eyes. He shifted as though there was something uncomfortable underneath him. Perhaps his guilt?

"I needed to know my mother was safe. I don't care about my father. But just... my mother...," he said, hopelessly. "

Well? Was she safe? Was she ok? Did you two have tea and fill each other in on both your lives? Tell me, how is she Draco?! How is your mother?!," Hermione felt herself wrenched deep into her chest for the words.

Draco's hands balled into fists. "Don't do that!," he roared.

"Do what! Point out the fact you went against your own word! You were supposed to stay inside the property, Draco! What would have happened if he caught you and used legilimency? He would find out everything! He would know where we are! We could all be dead!," she screamed.

"I'M NEVER GOING TO LET HIM HURT YOU," Draco bellowed. He slammed his balled fists onto the desk with a loud, crunching thud!

The silence that ensued seemed even louder than the yelling. Hermione just store. How could he? How could he? Replayed over in her mind like she was tossing a stone over and over in her palm. How could he? How could he? How dare he think that his situation was worse than hers. She was nothing. Ron and Ginny had been torn from their family. Harry was in the worst state that Hermione had ever witnessed. How could he? How could he? Hermione store with an intense hatred and rage, then his words hit her again. 'He used to cruciatus curse on me for over 2 minutes.' That wasn't good. Hermione store down at his hands again. They rested on the white wood, and sure even, the tell-tale signs of over-exposure to the curse were there. His hands appeared clammy and white, but had spidery blue veins appearing underneath his skin. They were also undeniably shaky and no matter how hard he clenched his fists, he couldn't make them go still.

"You're hurt," she said quietly. Draco seemed surprised by her words. Hermione looked at his hands. His fingers twitched feverishly, like a puppet-master was tugging viciously on his strings. He needed therapy. A Hempweed oil cream would calm the muscles down, alongside a massage that would dig out the tremors. She couldn't stay mad at him, not when he was in the state that he was.

"It's fine, Hermione," Draco said, he seemed defeated as he watched Hermione dig her wand from her back pocket. She didn't have Hempweed, but Ginny still had paw-paw cream Hermione had given her during Christmas, it wouldn't medically help his muscles, but it would atleast help Hermione tend to the pressure points in the muscles of his hands in order to stamp out the twitching.

"Accio paw-paw cream," Hermione summoned. She held her hand in the air casually, until a small plastic tube flew into her hand. Hermione glanced at it. It will do, she reminded herself. "I need to help you, Malfoy," Hermione said calmly, redirecting her attention to the blond who looked as though Hermione had pulled out a machete and planned to practise taxidermy on him while he was still alive.

"No," he immediately shoved from his mouth. He stood up- this time successfully, and glared dominantly over her. He had to bend his chin downward to glare at her. Hermione could tell he was using his height as a dominant factor to scare her, she didn't have the heart to tell him it wasn't working.

"If i don't help you, those tremors could do long-term damage. Your arteries could clog up, you'll get an increased chance of developing arthritis, you could lose feeling to the ends of your fingers-," Hermione began.

"Ok, fine," Draco interrupted quickly. Hermione gave a sigh of victory.

"I need to massage out the tremor, it will help get the blood flow back into your hand. It might hurt at first, but after a few minutes it shouldn't," she said. He grunted back at her, a sign to continue.

Hermione waved her wand again and made a small wooden stool appear next to Draco. She sat down and paused. He was tense. Frightened. She felt like she was about to pull a bone from the back of a dragon's throat. Would he explode? It was something Hermione thought but dismissed. He wouldn't hurt her. He wouldn't. 

She slowly reached up toward his right hand- closest to her from the desk- and touched his thumb. Her fingers rolled across the back of his hand until she'd scooped up the tremoring skin and brought it back down into her lap. Draco looked away. Was he ashamed? In pain? She hadn't even began to heal him. 

She soothingly brushed her fingers around his cold palm, getting him used to her warm hands before she began. His hands were cold and calloused. Hermione seemed to be able to calm his tremors slightly in her hand compared to when they rested on the desk. What was once constant quivering had soothed out to a more quiet jolt every few seconds. He looked toward her.

His eyes gazed into what Hermione felt like was her soul, and she didn't object. She bled into Draco's eyes, letting him dance across her pupils, letting him scan her skin and memorize every kind wrinkle on her face. 

Hermione grabbed the tube of paw-paw cream and released a galleon-sized dollop into her palm. She rested Draco's hand in her lap while she rubbed her palms together, both warming up the cream and spreading it around evenly. 

She picked up his hand again and began massaging it. Hermione started with Draco's fingers, taking time to individually compress and soothe his skin in the exact technique she'd picked up from the medical books that she had read. She was too wrapped up in her work, ensuring she pressed with the right amount of pressure and hitting exactly the right points, to notice that Draco was watching her. 

She was too kind and pure for him, and it was so fucking selfish on his account to fall so deeply for someone so caring and innocent. So, why did he cave into his addiction? It was the way she smelt and acted. The way she cared so much that she didn't care at all. The way she protected everyone around her with such fierocity that she didn't notice, no one was protecting her. She'd lost too much. She'd lost her parents and her childhood. Hermione still didn't notice Draco staring. 

She didn't notice the silent vows that Draco screamed to the gods above. The promises he made in his head as she healed his skin with the stupid muggle cream she'd borrowed from Ginny. She was the only one that had initially defended him against Ron. 

'I'll die for her. I'll die a thousand times for her. Please, god. Beat me, kill me, just don't touch her,' he screamed vividly in his head. 

Hermione didn't hear. She finished massaging his right hand and looked up at him to grab his left. They made eye contact. Neither had to speak. Draco turned in his chair to face her. They were so close that their knees touched. Draco watched Hermione with close proximity while she mended his hands. It was intense. Hermione had grown overly confident and accidently squeezed a pressure point. Draco tense and snarled through his teeth. 

"I'm sorry," she quickly apologised, looking up beneath her eyelashes and regaining her gentle touch on his hand. 

Draco merely shook his head. "No," he said, "Don't ever be sorry," he said. They resumed eye contact. Draco would have raced to hell and back just to be able to know what she was thinking. Hermione refocused on Draco's left hand, carefully, once again. She massaged the pressure points, healed him, fixed him. 

By the time Hermione finished, Draco's fingers were still. Calm. He looked at her. 

"I'll protect you, Hermione," Draco said. Hermione store back at him. She didn't know what to say, it was like someone had ripped the vocal chords from her throat or cursed her to forget how to talk. 

"I- I-," she struggled. 

"I'll never leave you again, ok?," he said. He crouched down to meet her eyes properly, and held her hand in his, a change that made Hermione's chest sore. She felt like he'd stolen the breath from her lungs, and she'd willing let him keep it if he asked. "I'll never make you worry, anything you want, I'll get it for you, I'll slaughter anyone who hurts you. Just... be mine," Draco said.

Hermione couldn't leave his moon-coloured eyes. They reminded her of space, eternal and dark. 

"Yes," she said. 


End file.
